


Cold Comfort

by Pyreite



Series: Shades of Shepard [2]
Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Developing Relationship, Drama, Ending Relationship, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Story Repost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:19:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyreite/pseuds/Pyreite
Summary: [Post ME-3]  Three years after the Reaper War, life is far from rosy for Shepard.  She sacrificed the most precious thing she had in order to save the galaxy from the Reapers.  Now she has to find a way to forgive herself for doing the worst thing imaginable.She's still not sure if Garrus can forgive her too.





	1. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains coarse language, arguing, the dissolution of a canon relationship, angst, tears, an interspecies relationship, mentions of an interspecies conception, and infant death. Discretion is advised.

“You’re serious about this”, said Shepard.

She was stunned by the revelation. Garrus wanted out of their relationship. The guilt weighed on him as much as it did her. Until now she’d never thought he’d turn tail and run. She was surprised, even angry, but she could tell the choice hadn’t been easy.

Garrus had never been unable to look her in the eye. He was steady on his feet like a deep-rooted tree, but he was nervous as hell too. The tension was visible in the restless fluttering of his mandibles. Shepard saw the slight tremor in his clawed fingers too. It was a familiar unconscious itch that once would’ve had him reaching for a sniper rifle.

Garrus was still a soldier, even if he was retired.

“I'm sorry, Shepard”, he apologised. “But things are different now”.

“Yeah”, she agreed. “That’s obvious”.

She turned away from him, chest tight. The news left her shaking down to her toes. Shepard wrapped her arms around herself, fingers digging like claws into her elbows. She’d known it was coming, something had been off for weeks. And today – out of nowhere – Garrus had dropped the bombshell as if it were a live grenade.

The tears prickled at the corners of Shepard’s eyes. It was suddenly hard to breathe. She took several moments to centre herself. She didn’t want Garrus to see how much he’d rattled her. A deep breath, a second to school her expression, and Shepard turned to face him with her head held high.

It was like looking down the scope of her favourite rifle. Garrus was in her cross-hairs, a mark about to have a bullet through his skull. Shepard’s eyes narrowed. The more she thought about his decision, the more selfish he seemed. Her focus sharpened until she was glaring at the middle of his plated forehead.

In that moment – with her thoughts taking a dark turn – Shepard was certain she’d have pulled the trigger. She tried to reign in her resentment. She tried to be sympathetic, but it was impossible to ignore her own feelings. Their relationship was a two-way street. Garrus wasn’t the only one drowning in his own guilt.

Shepard tried to stay civil, but one look at him set her teeth on edge. He was standing there, gawking at her like a fool.

“I know, I haven’t been the easiest person to live with. I know, I’ve been rough on you. I’m sorry, Garrus. But through all of that – I never once thought you’d give up on me”.

Garrus recoiled at her accusation, his eyes going wide in disbelief. It was like she’d socked him in the jaw, the blow leaving him dazed. It took him seconds to find his feet again. He scowled, those baby-blue eyes burning like hot coals. Shepard seethed at his reaction, the bitterness gushing out of her.

“I guess that 'One turian kind of woman' spiel was a load of bullshit. You never intended to stay with me for the long haul”.

Shepard bristled when Garrus rounded-on her in his fury. She heard the raspy flange of his contempt. He was enraged by her assumption. He had loved her with all his heart, but their constant arguments had soured him. The baby had divided them as much as he’d brought them together.

“It was never a lie!” snarled Garrus. “I loved you, Shepard! I still do, but I can't keep living inside the disaster that’s our relationship! Spirits! We've been together for three years, but we don't talk to each other any more! All we do is fight – constantly – about everything!”

Shepard's sucked in an angry breath. She hated to acknowledge it, but he was right. They’d argued, fought, and fucked each other blind for months. But there wasn’t an ounce of tenderness or enjoyment. It was mechanical – a release of stress not lovemaking. What love they’d had for one another had burned-up years ago.

“Isn't that what turians do?”, spat Shepard. “You fight and fuck until you’re satisfied! It's not like you were complaining the last time we rolled around naked on the floor!”

Shepard heard Garrus' mandibles clack against his plated chin. A sign that he was frustrated, but not enraged by her tactics. His self-control had improved since being mated to her. He was still hot-headed and heavy-handed, but less prone to acts of brashness. Humans weren't as resilient to damage as their turian counterparts.

Garrus had softened much of his natural inborn aggressiveness.

He was used to handling Shepard with kid-gloves.

“Enough!” barked Garrus. “Pissing me off won't work this time!”

Shepard's eyes filled with tears. She hated grief. It was dark, bitter as shit, and hurt worse than a bullet-wound. She didn’t know how to deal with the sorrow that’d cleft her heart in two. It was better to be angry than melancholic. Shepard knew how to direct the fury burning in her veins into something useful – proactive.

She was a soldier, an N7 – the best of the best. She’d trained her entire life to handle the impossible. And she’d succeeded. The Reapers were defeated, the galaxy safe. And none of it mattered in light of what she’d had to sacrifice.

“So you're going to abandon me?” snapped Shepard. “Because all this emotional crap is too hard for you to handle? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Garrus! But I gave my baby’s life for the people of the Milky Way galaxy! After everything, I’ve endured for them. I’ve got the spirits-damned right to grieve for my son!”

Shepard didn't move when her lover slammed his fist into the reinforced glass beyond her.

Their Citadel apartment was forty-floors up. Shepard wouldn't have cared if she’d tumbled to her death. Garrus was leaving her, for real this time. If she died today, at least her son would be waiting for her on the other side. It would be a relief, a joy to see him again.

“I’ve never said you shouldn’t!” roared Garrus. “But three years is too long to carry so much sorrow, Shepard! You're wallowing! You need to accept that David is gone! Nothing you do will ever bring him back!”

Shepard stared at her reflection in the glass. She didn’t recognise the woman she saw. She stared at that ashen face with it’s thin paper-like skin stretched tight over a human skull. She could see the outline of her eye-sockets, the jut of her cheekbones, the hard square of her own jawline. There was little fat, even less muscle, but the eyes were the worst.

They were a glassy lifeless bottle-green. Shepard knew that look of resignation, of defeat. She’d seen that selfsame despair in the eyes of the refugees during the Reaper War. And now she resembled them. She was tired too – all worn, and washed out like a watercolour painting left in the rain.

Shepard licked her lips, tongue dry. She took a good look at herself for the first time in years. And she knew in a heartbeat why Garrus wanted to run away. She was a shadow of herself, a wraith inside the shell of her own skin. This wasn’t the Shepard he knew, the Shepard he loved.

This woman was a stranger. The realisation was as sobering as it was painful.

“We were together for three years”, she corrected, voice flat. “That's past tense now, Garrus. You can't help me, but you can help yourself. It’s time you moved on with your life. I sure as hell can’t move on with mine when I’m like this”.

Her outrage evaporated like mist in the morning sun. Shepard was numb when her lover capitulated. His voice was filled with remorse. The weary flanging – laden with contrition – didn't move her as it once did. Shepard shook her head when Garrus begged her forgiveness.

“I'm sorry, Shepard! Spirits! I didn't mean what I said!”

Shepard saw his eyes mirrored in that glass window. A clear vivid blue like the Mindoir sea she'd loved as a child. Once it had been easy to lose herself in those eyes. Shepard shook off the nostalgia with difficulty. They’d been together for three years.

It was difficult to think of herself without him. But if Garrus moved forwards, than perhaps she could too given time. Shepard grasped at the flimsy threads of that hope. It meant more to her than the turian she’d loved. She wanted to bask in the light again, to live beyond the shadow of her grief.

Perhaps now she’d have a chance to do that.

“No. I heard you, Garrus”, she countered. “You meant every word. And you wanted an out. Now you’ve got it”.

Shepard was tired of the arguments, the fighting. If Garrus wanted to leave her than she would let him go with two open hands. They were passed the point of no return. Shepard knew when to cut her loses and run. It was useless trying to rebuild a relationship that was like a pile of shattered glass.

She was tired of bloodying herself on the shards.

“Make it easier for both of us”, she encouraged. “Pick up your bag, turn around, and walk out of my life. Be brave, Garrus. You know you don't need my permission. Our relationship – fucked up pile of shit that it is – can't be salvaged”.

Garrus was the love of her life. Shepard would do her damnedest to spare him further pain.

“You know it's a waste of time for both of us to stay dead in the water”.

Love, even poisoned, was hard to deny.

“Spirits, Shepard”, gasped Garrus. He was stunned, she knew. Not once in the brief years they'd been together had Shepard ever given him a chance to escape. “This isn't right”, he protested. “I can’t leave you like this”.

Shepard sighed. This was always the case. Garrus was hard on the outside, but soft and gooey in the middle. He was too compassionate to stay angry for long. Shepard was weary of going in circles.

She wanted an out too.

“You can”, she urged. “You will. There's no turning back now. It's time to go, Garrus. It’s what you want. So do it”.

Shepard didn't bother pointing to the door. Garrus knew his way around. He could show himself out. Shepard wouldn't wait on him any more. Chivalry was dead.

“I still love you”, replied Garrus. “Maybe – after some time apart – we could try again”.

Shepard entertained the possibility. She had entered this relationship with the sole understanding, that it would be for the rest of her life. Three years roughing it hadn't been part of the plan. Shepard shook her head as sky-cars sped past their apartment. The window let light in, but kept the world out.

Shepard was tired of hiding behind it.

“No”, she stated with finality. “We're done”.

“Shepard. Please”.

She tensed when Garrus' plated hand left the glass. She turned her face away when he tried to stroke her cheek. He'd given up at the final hurdle. Shepard refused to allow him a modicum of respect. His affection was unwelcome and unwanted.

“Leave! Now!”

Garrus stopped short of touching her, hand hovering in the air. He hesitated for a moment, heart caught between desire and obedience. The tone of command in her voice was undeniable. Garrus bowed his head, mandibles flaring wide in a weary sigh.

He was tired too.

“I'll go”, he conceded.

Shepard wasn't in the mood to compromise.

“It's for the best”.

“Yeah”, agreed Garrus.

He withdrew his hand, arm dropping back to his side. He didn't know when or how they'd come to this point. Trying to have a conversation with her was like walking through a minefield. Set one foot wrong and she'd explode. He wasn't sure when they'd forgotten how listen to each other.

“Maybe you're right”, said Garrus, as he bent to retrieve his duffle-bag.

He didn't care about the apartment, furniture, or the photos magnetised to the fridge. He wanted to forget the past and move forward. Life waited for no one. It was beyond time that they both started again, somewhere else – maybe even with someone else. Being together was too hard, too painful.

Garrus threw the strap over his shoulder. The duffle smacked against his back. Its weight was a stark reminder of the present. There was no turning back if he chose to step out that front door. His relationship with Shepard would be over.

Forever.

It should have been harder to say goodbye.

“I'll see you around, Shepard”.

“No you won’t”, she replied. “As soon as you’re gone. I’m leaving for Rannoch”.

“What?”

Shepard’s smile was pained. “Tali always said she had a spare room handy. It’d be good to see her again”.

“Yeah. It would”, agreed Garrus, heart in his throat.

It hurt to hear that Shepard was about to flee off-world. He wondered if she’d always been looking for the right moment, the right excuse to make her escape too. Garrus knew he’d never know for sure. Shepard was single again, a grown woman capable of making up her own mind. He didn’t factor into her decisions any more.

He gave Shepard a conciliatory nod as if they were simple friends parting ways. He saw her gaunt face in the window, reflected against a backdrop of the Citadel's ever-blue sky. She was weary, haggard, and beautiful in her suffering. The death of their only child was a yoke around her neck. Garrus knew she’d never be free of the grief.

Shepard had loved that boy more than life itself.

“For what it's worth”, he stated. “I miss David too”.

Garrus turned on his heel, the duffle bumping against his cowl. He headed for the door. The first step was difficult when he heard Shepard sniffle. The second was harder when she gasped. He hardened his heart at the sound of her back slamming into the glass window.

The resonant bang was muffled by the ruffle of her clothing.

Shepard, he imagined, was sliding down to the floor.

Garrus didn't look back as he stepped into the hall. He ignored the distraught sound of Shepard's sobs. She didn't scream like other women. She was always quiet – dignified in her sorrow – as the tears streamed down her face. Garrus heard her gasp for breath, but not once did he hear her call his name.

“Goodbye, Shepard”, he whispered, taloned hand landing on the door's holographic lock.

He waited whilst the security protocols performed a brief biometric scan. The door's holo-pad flashed once in recognition. The lock glowed a vibrant verdant green before initiating the activation sequence. Seconds passed, the door slid open, its two halves splitting down the centre. It was like their relationship, broken in two.

Garrus walked through, the weight of the duffle-bag lessening the further he went. A step around the corner, a brisk waltz down the corridor, and he was feet from the nearest elevator. Garrus stared at the number forty flickering on the elevator's holographic screen. The script was small, the numerals neat, typical of Citadel engineers. The elevator chimed, the doors slid open, and for a moment he hesitated as it emptied.

Garrus watched a turian father shepherd his twin asari daughters. The girls bantered with one another as their dutiful parent ushered them down the hall. Garrus stared, eyelids fluttering, when the party of three turned the corner. They were, he realised, heading in Shepard's direction. Their own apartment likely down the hall from hers.

Garrus paused.

He was conflicted.

Had he made the right choice?

The elevator chimed again. The doors sliding closed. The moment of panic passed. Garrus took a deep fortifying breath. It was now or never.

“I can do this”, he told himself.

Garrus nodded. He set one foot in front of the other, taking a step at a time. In seconds he was at the elevator doors. He laid a taloned hand against the holographic key-panel. The elevator doors slid open, revealing an empty compartment.

Garrus walked inside, turned around, and stared straight ahead.

The elevator doors closed, sealing him inside.

His relationship with Shepard was over.

It was time to start again.


	2. Human Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard's back on the Citadel after two years on Rannoch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight edit. Repost.

Shepard walked down the hall to her apartment. It was smaller than the one she'd shared with Garrus, but spacious enough to house her few belongings. After she’d retired from the military, she’d hoped to raise a family with her favourite turian. Her life had changed when she'd fallen pregnant with David. 

An impossibility of nature, he'd been the first and only child she'd had with Garrus. Shepard dismissed the past with a shake of her head. It was pointless to dwell on the tragedy that had ended her relationship. She'd cried enough – her baby was dead. Garrus was gone.

Shepard approached the doors to her apartment. She laid her hand on the key-panel. The biometric scanner compared her fingerprints to those logged on file. She leaned inward, opening an eye wide for a retinal scan. It’d been a smart move to invest in extra security measures.

Her brush with that band of mercs had given her a new scar.

Shepard tapped in her key-code. Tali had insisted on triple-fold security protocols. Fingerprints and a retinal scan were difficult, but not impossible to forge. Shepard had seen her own clone try to steal her identity. The biometric markers on file weren't the only way she identified herself these days.

Shepard flashed her wrist across the biometric scanner. She was assured by a bell-like chime. The chip under her skin was only implanted in Alliance N7 recruits. It was ironic that a remnant of her military career was still useful. Tali was smarter than she gave herself credit for.

Shepard waited. The holographic lock on her front-door changed from blood-red to green. She stepped forward when the door slid open to reveal her apartment. The place hadn't changed in all the time she'd spent away. It was spartan, clean, and barely lived in with unused furniture and untouched dishes.

Shepard ate out more than she stayed-in to cook.

Her apartment was a way-station not a home.

Shepard tossed her duffle-bag onto the floor, not caring where it landed. The black tile had seen worse messes than a ragged rucksack stuffed to bursting. Shepard always packed light, but Tali had overloaded her with food and clothing. Quarians avoided hoarding by giving away all unwanted excess.

Shepard wasn’t sure what to do with that drawer full of two-toed socks. She'd spent two years on Rannoch, helping Tali turn the local swamp into a habitable home. Draining a waterlogged mire was dirty business. Shepard had wondered if she'd ever get the muddy stink out of her hair. 

Rannoch soil, dry and dusty, or drowning in water tended to cling.

Shepard was glad she'd showered en-route. She'd forgiven Admiral Zaal'Koris vas Qwib-Qwib for being a whining suit-wetter. His ship had a state-of-the-art water recycling system. Shepard had never known a stall to come with five shower-heads. She’d almost drowned inside a gigantic metal box producing enough steam to choke an elcor.

A change of clothes wasn’t necessary.

Shepard headed for the bathroom. She hadn't seen her own reflection for months. Quarians favoured personal hygiene, but cared little for personal vanity. Tali, just like her people, was used to having her face concealed behind a tinted visor. Life in an enviro-suit hadn't given her time to be fussy about her looks.

Personal grooming went over Tali's head.

Shepard strode inside the sparse wash-room. A utilitarian shower stall was on her left. An adjacent toilet and handbasin was on her right. It was reminiscent of the bathroom inside her quarters aboard the Normandy SR-2. Shepard preferred this simplicity to the lavish en suite she'd shared with Garrus.

Simple was better than complicated.

Shepard was comfortable knowing her boundaries.

She stared into the mirror for the first time in half a year. The change was startling. Shepard marvelled at what months of good food and regular sleep had wrought. Her face, once gaunt, had filled out. Her clothing clung to firm muscle, dips and curves she'd forgotten she had.

Shepard didn't recognise herself.

She turned her face from left to right noticing the differences. Her skin was darker from toiling under the hot Rannoch sun. The tan was healthier than the ashen washed-out weariness she'd had in those first few months. Tali had been horrified when she'd arrived on Rannoch looking scrawnier than a husk. The days spent with Tali – Shepard realised – had been better than good.

She didn't look like a half-starved varren any more.

Shepard smiled as she reflected on Tali's stern reprimand. “I guess, I was an irresponsible Boshtet”, she murmured. Shepard gasped when she saw how the corners of her mouth curve upward. It was strange to see her eyes crinkle and her cheeks dimple with happiness. The grief of losing her only child had drowned what little delight she'd had in a sea of salt and tears.

“Fuck me”, she swore. “I'm human again”.

Shepard shook her head, mind reeling. She studied her eyes, nose, and mouth. She'd lost that look of hungry desperation. The bags under her eyes were gone. Her cheeks were high and full, a sign of better nutrition. Her lips were no longer chapped and dry, but plump and glossy like ripe strawberries.

Shepard blushed. She wished she hadn't indulged at the space-port. The ice-lolly she'd sucked on had stained her mouth rosy-red. Shepard self-consciously wiped her lips. She didn’t like lipstick.

“Shit”, she groaned. The red remained. Shepard rolled her eyes. “Fine for fuck's sake”, she grumbled. “I have better things to worry about”.

Shepard peered into the mirror again. She frowned when she saw the scar. It had healed cleanly thanks to her Cerberus engineering. She ran a finger over her skin from cheek to chin. The scar cut a diagonal line across her face – the result of a glancing blow from a knife.

Shepard followed its path from under her left eye, over the bridge of her nose, to the far side of her jaw. The scar ended just below the swell of her right cheek. It had healed well thanks to Tali. The swift application of medigel had saved her from a round of stitches. She had been right to invest in the skin, muscle, and bone-weaves.

Shepard knew she was lucky to still have a face.

The Eclipse merc who’d tried to cut her throat had been less fortunate.

There was no coming back from dead – unless you had Miranda Lawson working on your corpse. 

Shepard snorted. “Well, almost dying again is one way to wake a person the fuck-up”. She was tired of dwelling on her grief. David was gone. Garrus was too.

It was time to pick up the pieces of her life.

“Fuck”, cursed Shepard. “After all that emotional shit. I need a drink”.

She'd had enough of the self-recriminations. She was ready to live again. Shepard took a fortifying breath as she strode out of the bathroom. She turned down the hall, and walked back into the lounge. She knelt beside her duffle, stuffed to bursting with the clothes Tali had insisted she buy.

Two years abroad without any man action was a terrible thing.

Shepard unzipped its contents with a buzz of metal teeth. She grimaced when she saw a glitzy cat-suit made from a shimmery silver-blue material. Tali had good taste, but Shepard doubted she'd ever wear the combination of glitter and silk. She had curves again, but one needed a boyfriend to show off that suit too. Shepard wasn't looking for a hook-up or a hook-in despite Tali's best efforts to get her laid.

“Fuck no”, cursed Shepard. “I'll be dead for real before I wear that shit. I am a woman not a fucking barbie doll. Sorry, Tali”.

She dove back in, hands first, shoving aside a lace brassier with matching panties. Several pairs of silky camisoles were ignored too. Shepard didn't understand Tali's obsession with lingerie. She had indulged her to be polite, allowing a few pieces to be added to her wardrobe. Tali was a good friend, but the lacy underwear, thongs, and a handful of sheer nighties had clinched it.

Shepard believed Tali was, through her, vicariously trying to be a girly-girl. She couldn’t blame her friend for being into glitz and glamour. Quarians went commando under their enviro-suits. Tali had never worn silk, satin, sequins, velvet, or lace in her life. Dressing her friend like a doll was the next best thing to donning something sinful herself.

“At least she didn’t pack a garter belt, g-string, and stockings”, muttered Shepard. “Oh wait. She did pack ‘em. How the fuck did she find these online? Shit, she must’ve got ‘em couriered off-world without me knowing. Smart”.

Shepard whistled when she found two pairs of lacy garters, stockings, and g-strings.

One was a tasteful black. The other a racy red.

“That’s it. I’m changing her Fornax subscription”, promised Shepard. “Bye bye, Quarian Cream. Hello, Krogasm. Three months of ogling Krogan quads in 3D should to the trick. She’ll never order me lingerie ever again”.

Shepard was relieved when her fingers slid over a familiar surface. It was more comfortable than the gossamer underwear Tali had put into her bag. Shepard withdrew the black duster. It was lined with red suede and baby-soft wool. Shepard shrugged it on with practised ease, the long leather tail skimming her calves.

Shepard didn't bother buttoning the lapel. She preferred to wear it loose and open, more for comfort than dramatic flair. Shepard didn't care who saw the blade sheathed at her waist. It wasn't illegal to carry arms on the Citadel if you were a retired Spectre. Shepard knew better than to go unarmed into a dark alley.

Monsters were everywhere.

Shepard straightened her collar. She fished through an inner-pocket for her credit-chit. She was pleased when she found the hard piece of plastic. “Good”, she said to herself. “I'm not wallowing in self-pity tonight”.

Shepard glanced down, examining her outfit. She had to admit that Tali had damned good taste. The snug black pants and boots with their svelte stiletto heel accentuated the shape of her arse. The blood-red blouse revealed a hint of cleavage without being vulgar. The outfit was classy, if slightly vampiric sex-diva, but Shepard had worn worse.

She wasn't looking for a chance to blow off steam. She wanted to spend her first night back from Rannoch being normal.

And a night out at the local bar was too tempting to pass-up.


	3. Looking for Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard meets a turian on the way to the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains coarse language, references to alcohol, a nightclub, red-sand and Hallex, retired mercenaries, an irresponsible young human man, a flirtatious turian, and Shepard being both macho and incredibly awkward.

Shepard hated the gaudy florescent sign. Phalanx was a nightclub in the ass-end of nowhere. The locals frequenting the place weren't law-abiding citizens. Shepard had seen her fair share of shady-deals, and bawdy arguments take place inside and out. Phalanx was as morally bankrupt as any seedy joint frequented by kill-joys.

Retired mercenaries preferred to drink in peace. They didn't appreciate the drug-fuelled drama incited by the street-gangs. One overriding rule set Phalanx apart from other nightclubs. It was drug-free. If you snorted red-sand, you drank elsewhere.

If you peddled Hallex, you knew better than to enter the premises.

Phalanx regulars had a tendency to break bones when pissed off.

Shepard fit right in.

“Fucking shithole”, she grumbled.

She hated Phalanx. It was always full of jaded veterans as troubled as she was. Misery loved company. Phalanx counted mercs and ex-military personnel among its usual patrons. Shepard hoped she didn’t run into anyone she knew.

Bounty hunters like Zaeed Massani tended to drink here too.

Shepard hadn't seen him in years. She hoped that Zaeed hadn't decided to pay the Citadel a visit tonight. It would be too damned coincidental if she came across one of her old crewmates. Liara was known to send discreet well-intentioned emails.

Shepard adored her friend, but she hated Liara's tendency to fret like a mother-hen. The Shadowbroker had eyes and ears everywhere. Shepard thought she was big and ugly enough to look after herself. Telling that to Liara was like talking to a brick-wall. Fucking pointless.

Asari were stubborn.

Shepard made up her mind. She needed a drink. Phalanx was a cesspit, but at least she could fade into anonymity there. The regular patrons wouldn't care who she was. Some would recognise her whilst others would give her a wide berth.

If some patrons had a grudge than she was ready.

Shepard was up for a fight if any came her way. She doubted the bar-keep would be impressed. She'd once levelled the first floor after a batarian had tried to shove a grenade down her throat. The Hegemony had rescinded that kill-order, but some resentments ran bone-deep. Shepard regretted blowing up the Alpha Relay.

The citizens of the Bahak system had been spared the fate of being butchered by the Reapers. Their deaths were cleaner than the unfortunate bastards harvested on other worlds. Shepard would have preferred to die in an explosion than being melted into grey-goo. The Reapers were the stuff of nightmares. Even Shepard didn't have a kill-count in the trillions.

“Fuck”, she swore. She hated feeling guilty. “I thought I was over that shit”. Shepard roused herself out of her melancholy with a swift shake. The all-over body-shiver made her joints crack and her bones click.

Shepard rolled her head, neck popping, the sinewy muscle pulling ever so satisfyingly. She had grown too used to people trying to take a swipe at her. Most leaned toward a punch-up in the street or a shoot-out in some dark alleyway. Some used the anonymity of the Net to post extraneous bullshit online. Shepard suspected Liara had erased the more controversial elements.

Liara had gotten more protective since the her breakup with Garrus.

Those anonymous blogs rarely stayed up for long.

“Better”, mumbled Shepard. She took a deep fortifying breath. She hadn't frequented a bar in years. Garrus had indulged in the occasional drink after the end of the Reaper War. He'd avoided bar-hopping after Shepard had fallen pregnant.

Being an expectant father and a boozer hadn't meshed well with his iron-clad morality.

“Not that it matters now”, muttered Shepard. She looked to the stairs leading to Phalanx's closed double-doors. Her eyes rolled when she saw an idiot hanging around outside. He was human, covered in tattoos, with a thick silver bull-ring stuck through his nose. Only a fool loitered around Phalanx without going inside.

Shepard doubted that he had been there for long. She was unimpressed when his bloodshot eyes appraised her from head to toe. His appreciative wolf-whistle grated on Shepard's nerves. She climbed the stairs. The heels of her boots struck the floor like knives stabbing asphalt.

Shepard was annoyed by this guy's presumptuousness.

“Yo, babe”, the sleazy bastard cat-called. “How's about you get me inside the club?”

Shepard's lip curled. She hated these arrogant little shits. He wasn't an adolescent, but he was young, his face unlined by age. The greasy black hair and untrimmed goatee made Shepard think he was in his early to mid twenties. Far too young to be passing as a merc or a retired member of the military.

He was too clean, too green and cocky, to hoard a lifetime of scars.

“You out here for a dare?” hissed Shepard. “That's not the smartest thing to do in a place like this”.

The guy smiled, all pristine white-teeth, and sassiness. He was trying to be cute, but it was easy to see through the skin-thin façade. His bull-ring had more polish than his acting skill. Shepard doubted that he had sense enough to realise how dangerous Phalanx was. Mercs, retired or not, tended to be armed.

Death by gunshot was a common fatality.

“Oh”, cooed her admirer. “I got myself a sexy little spitfire”.

Shepard frowned when he tried to act suave. She saw him move, arm sliding up, shoulder rolling. He sauntered in her direction, feet dragging in a pair of dirty brown combat-boots. Shepard's reaction was more instinctive than conscious. She hadn't had any man action in months.

Shepard wasn't about to let some anonymous idiot cop a feel.

The moment his tattooed arm tried to slide around her waist. The gloves were off. Shepard didn't like unsolicited advances. She caught his wrist, fingers clamping down tight. Shepard glared at him.

“I am a spitfire, but I'm not yours!”, snarled Shepard. “Or anyone's so back the fuck off!”

“Oh shit! Shit! Shit!” hollered the guy. “I know you!”

He gaped at Shepard, grey-blue eyes widening in recognition. He hadn't had a good look at her before he'd waltzed on over. He saw her features clear as day now. Every billboard on the Citadel had flashed that scowling face for months. The Saviour of the Citadel was back after a long twelve-month absence.

And he had pissed her off.

It wasn't the smartest thing to do.

“No you don't”, corrected Shepard, voice tight. She spun the guy round and locked his forearm tight into the small of his back. He grunted when she slammed him face-first into the night-club's neon colour-changing sign. Shepard didn't care when he panted like an overheated varren. He should have known better than charm his way into her good graces.

She had a reputation for damaging public property.

“Take my advice”, growled Shepard. “I'll only say it once”. She leaned forward and hissed in his ear. “Fuck off”. She turned on her heel, using his bodyweight for leverage. Shepard threw him down the stairs.

She watched the fool fly without wings, then trip, and stumble. He was on his knees when he landed. Face inches from the rough metal floor. His bare hands grinding across the uneven ridges of an air-vent. Shepard heard the rasp of his breath and the click of his teeth.

He was seconds away from swearing blue-murder.

The young were like that.

More bluster than brains.

Shepard watched warily when a tall and slender turian walked up to her victim. The guy was still on his knees, breathing hard, though she saw his head rise. She heard the banter that passed between them. The turian didn't bother lowering his voice. The raspy flanging of his vowels and syllables, as they conversed intrigued Shepard.

Garrus had sounded sexy as sin too.

This turian's voice was softer, silkier, and huskier with a tinge of melancholy. He had seen action in the field, Shepard guessed, and had been a soldier once too. Only veterans carried grief around with them like a second-shadow. Shepard was suspicious when the turian paid her a compliment. Men in her experience, usually wanted to fuck, fight, or kill her.

Shepard wasn't sure what this particular turian wanted.

Yet.

“You should listen to the lady”, the turian advised the human at his feet. “Phalanx isn't the place for someone like you”.

“How the fuck would you know?” snarled Shepard's scowling admirer. “Why don't you mind, you're own damned business!”

The turian inclined his head like a curious varren. He observed the younger man with the patience of a saint. “I'm ex-military. She is too. You're not”, he replied. The turian nodded to the corridor that led back into the maze of brightly-lit streets. “I'm also a regular patron. We don't like troublemakers. It would be wisest to move on before the lady decides to kick you in the pills”.

Shepard snorted. The turian had made a threat, using her as the bludgeon. Smart man. She played along. Shepard wasn't a bleeding heart, but she could be compassionate when necessary.

“You should run while you can”, declared Shepard. She lowered her chin, eyes narrowing, mouth thinning. She glared at the foolhardy moron. “Or would you rather crawl out of here?” Shepard was unsurprised when the guy gasped.

She wasn't offended when he scrambled to his feet, face blanching ash-white.

She knew, the instant he gaped like a stunned pyjack, that realisation had dawned.

The guy recognised her for who she really was.

“Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he cursed. His hands rising to ward her off. “You're, the Shepard! The fucking crazy-ass Reaper-destroying, Shepard!” The guy scrambled backward, giving the turian a wide berth too, as he sought to escape with his balls intact. “Fuck this man! I ain't dying 'cause of some stupid-ass dare! Bino, that stupid fucker, never said anything about tangling with you!”

Shepard arched an eyebrow when the cheeky shit hesitated. He was eyeing her up again. She felt his gaze linger longer than was polite. Her hunch was right when the guy grinned stupidly. His appreciative wolf-whistle confirmed Shepard's suspicions.

The idiot had been sent to infiltrate Phalanx on a dare.

He was braver, if stupider than Bino.

“Fuck”, swore Shepard's newest fan-boy, teeth flashing in a broad shit-eating grin. “Those holo-vids don't do you justice”. He winked at Shepard. “You're one smoking-hot dame. Bino will be pissed I chickened out on the dare, but he's gonna be so jealous when I tell him I ran into you”.

“Spirits”, grumbled Shepard. She glared at her would-be suitor. He had a death-wish. "Fuck off!” She was annoyed when the guy leapt to his feet.

He assumed the position, back straightening, head held high.

A swift if sloppy salute soon followed.

“Yes, Ma'am!”, he cried before whirling on his heel in a fit of laughter. “Fuck! Bino is gonna hit the fucking roof! Wooh! I almost got my ass handed to me by, Commander fucking Shepard!”

Shepard rolled her eyes when her fan-boy skedaddled. She'd never seen a man run so fast in their lives. He was a blur of black-slacks and polkadotted blue and purple socks. He disappeared from sight faster than a charging Krogan. Shepard was impressed.

“I'll admit”, said Shepard. “For a cheeky bastard. He's fast. Probably built up all that stamina running away from C-Sec. Fucking waste of talent, even professional athletes aren't that quick”.

The turian chuckled. “Well now he'll be inspired enough to find a new occupation. He did seem to be a big fan of yours”. He turned and walked towards the stairs. He was graceful as he climbed, knees bending, calves swinging. The quiet confidence in his posture intrigued Shepard.

This turian was more restrained than Garrus. His movements sure, precise, and controlled. Garrus had strutted like a peacock, confidence in every step. This turian flowed like water over rock. He was neither hasty nor hesitant, moving at his own pace.

Shepard liked what she saw more than she wanted to admit.

She studied him the closer he came to Phalanx's double-doors. He was fairer than Garrus, his plates a shade of milky iron-grey. He lacked the silvery-sheen in his plates. The darkness around his eyes, cheeks, and fringe accentuated his feline-like features. He was handsome in a subtler way than Garrus, his face clean and unscarred. His clan-markings were a simple pair of violet bands adorning his mandibles.

The avian eyes glinting like shards of turquoise made Shepard blush.

“Will you stop staring at me!” barked Shepard. “I'm not a fucking sideshow!”

The turian looked away, mandibles fluttering with anxiety. “I'm sorry”, he apologised. “I didn't mean to offend. It's just”. He trailed off as if he were afraid to share his thoughts aloud.

Shepard's eyes narrowed. She didn't like that gravelly flange in his voice. He was hiding something. The inability to meet her gaze was the final straw. Shepard rounded on him with the ferociousness of a hunting varren, fangs bared.

She was ready for a fight.

“Just what?”

The turian bowed his head. He chanced a look at Shepard from under dark eyelids. He was nervous, but had enough courage to voice his opinion. “That human was only half right”. His voice was velvet soft when he told Shepard what he thought of her.

“You're smoking hot", he declared. "And beautiful".

Shepard was dumbstruck. She stared at the violet-streaked turian. Seconds passed in a tense and uncomfortable silence. Shepard was unsure how to react. Only Garrus had ever been brave enough to hit on her in a public place.

It was disconcerting to learn that another turian could find her attractive too.

“You're not going to tell me my waist is supportive and my fringe is nice right?”

The turian chuckled, mandibles flaring wide in a shy jagged-toothed smile.

The expression would have been threatening if Shepard hadn't dated Garrus. Her former lover had tended to smile like that too. His leathery mouth-plates parted to reveal two rows of sharp and spiny teeth. The smile lasted a second longer before the turian's mandibles fluttered closed. Shepard smiled herself, cheeks tinged pink, when this sly fellow made her a promise.

“I will if you'll join me for a drink tonight”.

“You forget what the tattooed boyscout said?” quipped Shepard. “Being seen with me can be a hazard for your health”.

“That you were smoking hot?” the turian countered. “I remember that part. He was right too”.

Shepard laughed a tad self-conscious. He was flirting. “No”, replied Shepard. “My identity”. She eyed the turian, certain his attitude would change. Her reputation tended to scare off the boys, and the girls too especially the asari.

The smart ones avoided her on principle.

“I heard what he said”, said the turian. “I don't mind”. He nodded to Phalanx's closed double-doors. “If you meant business. You would have come here in a hard-suit with a full loadout of guns, clips, and grenades”. He gestured to Shepard's figure-hugging black-pants, matching boots, and calf-length duster.

“Not dressed like a woman looking for company”.

Shepard bit her lip with sudden nervousness. She was retired from the military, a civilian but uncomfortable dressing like one. She'd spent a decade of her life in combat-gear. It was strange to be an ordinary person. Shepard felt vulnerable without the protective plates of her armour.

A thin strip of leather and a few millimetres of fabric were all that separated her from this turian.

“I never said, I was looking for company”, retorted Shepard. “Seems to me that you're making sure that you don't drink alone tonight”.

The turian gave her a calculating look. “Maybe, I am. I wouldn't mind spending a few hours looking into your eyes over a glass of beer. That's if you wouldn't mind sharing a table with me". He offered her a taloned hand and a promise.

“I can't sing for shit, but I'm a good listener".

Shepard flushed a dark rosy red. "You're laying it on a bit thick don't you think?"

"Not for you".

"You hoping to get into my pants too?"

"If you don't kill me first. Sure".

She laughed. "You're cute for a guy with a deathwish". She winked at him. "All right, handsome. You got a name? If I'm getting plastered tonight, then I want to know the name of the guy paying for my cab-ride home”.

The turian chuckled.

“It's Lantar”.

Shepard's brows furrowed. She appraised him for several seconds. He seemed familiar, but she couldn't quite place his face or name. He wasn't bare-faced, so she figured that he couldn't have been born on the Citadel. He was from probably from Palaven or a turian colony like Taetrus.

She liked him, the cheeky bastard.

“No clan-name?” probed Shepard. “Those violet-stripes on your mandibles are clan-markings”.

The turian tensed for a moment. His plated brows drew together. Shepard was wary of the furrow deepening between the craggy lines of his forehead.

He was nervous.

Shepard grimaced.

She had a tendency to be heavy-handed with men.

“Fuck. I'm sorry for the questions. My manners are shit”. Shepard ran a tired hand through her hair. “I haven't dated in a while. I'm kind of rusty at being sociable”.

The rigidity in Lantar's posture eased. He seemed more relaxed now. “Me too”. He considered Shepard for a moment. His gaze lingered longest upon her face, as if he were weighing up the pros and cons of pursuing her tonight.

Lantar made a slow if cautious compromise. “How about we go inside”, he suggested. “Find a table, order a round, and talk like a pair of mature adults?"

Shepard smiled in relief. "Sounds good". It would be nice to have company. She hated drinking alone anyway. Sitting by herself upped her chances of falling back into her old melancholic ways.

“I'd like that”, agreed Shepard. She hesitated a moment, considering Lantar's taloned turian hand. She only had experience dating one turian. Garrus had been her first and last non-human boyfriend. Shepard wondered if she was ready for another go round.

“It's all right”, soothed Lantar. “I won't bite unless you ask me too”.

"Good to know", said Shepard. She laid her hand in Lantar's with a smile. “You only live once right?” She nodded to the double-doors leading inside Phalanx. “Let's see if you can handle your drink. I'll bet you fifty credits that I'll be the one still standing at five in the morning”.

“Only fifty? That's way too cheap”, quipped Lantar. “Make it a hundred and you've got a deal”.

“You're on”, said Shepard with a saucy wink. She was enjoying herself. Lantar was sweet and funny. He was easy on the eyes too. Shepard thought turians were majestic like a bird of prey.

Lantar had the goods in the looks department.

Shepard wondered if he looked as good under his clothes.


End file.
